


On His Knees

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bodyswap, Developing Relationship, Dubious Consent, Face-Fucking, Hand Jobs, M/M, Porn with the barest semblance of a plot, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 20:42:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11215914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: “Is this what you want?” Grantaire asks, as he cups Enjolras’s chin, forcing Enjolras to look up at him. “You want to see what this looks like, me on my knees for you?”Enjolras and Grantaire swap bodies. And then blowjobs.





	On His Knees

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Usual disclaimer. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

“Maybe we’ll be back to normal in the morning,” Grantaire suggests, his voice still sounding weird to his ear — as it should, because it’s Enjolras’s voice as Enjolras hears it, and for some reason, Enjolras’s body doesn’t supply the hallelujah chorus that Grantaire always seems to hear whenever Enjolras talks.

Enjolras gives him a deeply dubious look, the look intimately familiar on Grantaire’s rugged features, even the look is all Enjolras. “Really?” Enjolras asks, in Grantaire’s raspy voice. “That’s your solution? Go home and hope for the best.”

Grantaire shrugs and is amazed at how fluid the motion is, Enjolras’s narrow shoulders rising and falling in his slightly-too-tight t-shirt, unfettered by the old injuries that Grantaire’s come to regret as he’s gotten older. “Well, hope is your purview, Apollo,” he says easily, “and since I’m occupying your body, it seems only fair to play the role.”

Enjolras scowls. “And if we don’t wake up normal?” he asks. “How are we going to explain to our friends that we’ve somehow swapped bodies?”

It’s a good question, and one that Grantaire doesn’t have an answer to, mostly because he still doesn’t understand how this happened in the first place. One second, Enjolras was leaning over Grantaire and yelling at him about something assuredly stupid; the next, the room spun and Grantaire had somehow ended up in Enjolras’s place, looking down at himself, watching his own eyes widen as Enjolras came to the same realization he did.

Still, sitting here in the Musain at 2 in the morning is hardly going to bring them any solutions, and Grantaire shrugs and says with a confidence he doesn’t actually feel, “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Enjolras clearly wants to argue, but instead jerks a shrug. “Fine,” he says. “We’ll meet up at 10 tomorrow morning at my place. And hopefully everything will be back to normal.”

They part ways with no further words spoken, and Grantaire is halfway back to his apartment when he realizes that he has Enjolras’s keys while his own keys are, shockingly, in the pocket of his own jeans, which Enjolras is wearing. Clearly, Enjolras has the same realization, since he calls Grantaire, and Grantaire flinches at the sight of his own picture on Enjolras’s iPhone. “You have my keys,” Enjolras says without preamble. Then, before Grantaire can say anything, Enjolras sighs and commands, “Just come sleep at my place. It’ll be easier.”

And Grantaire’s not gonna argue with that. Especially since he has Enjolras’s phone and realizes that he can order a Lyft without feeling guilty about the effect on his bank account.

When he gets to Enjolras’s apartment, he’s thrown by seeing himself leaning against Enjolras’s door and looking disgruntled. “Finally,” he mutters, and Grantaire bites back his retort because he’s way too used to Enjolras snapping at him and he figures his body deserves a break from having to hear it for once.

Once they get inside, Enjolras throws Grantaire a pair of pajamas before disappearing inside the bedroom and leaving Grantaire to sleep on the couch. But while Grantaire takes the pajamas, he can’t bring himself to put them on, can’t bring himself to violate Enjolras’s trust, to finally do what he’s always wanted and look at Enjolras’s naked body.

It’s pathetic as fuck, but he respects Enjolras way too much.

So he curls up on the couch without changing and prays that sleep claims him quickly.

* * *

 

It doesn’t.

And by the time he finally falls asleep, it seems like only minutes later that he’s rudely awoken by someone nudging him, and he opens his eyes to see himself looking down at him, bemused expression on his face. “My pajamas not good enough for you?” he hears himself ask, and he groans, screwing his eyes closed as he tries to remember where the fuck he is and what the fuck happened.

It comes back to him in a rush, and he sits up, noticing that his dark curls are damp and plastered against his head, which means that Enjolras showered.

Which means Enjolras saw him naked.

And while he should feel violated, he’s instead half-hard at the very thought.

“I didn’t want to see you naked,” he says instead, focusing at a spot over Enjolras’s – or, well, his body’s – shoulder. “Not without your permission.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes, and the expression is undoubtedly familiar to Grantaire, even if he’s the one normally rolling his eyes. “You can change clothes,” he says impatiently. “You can even shower if you want. And you might as well, since your plan didn’t work and we’re still stuck in each other’s bodies.”

Grantaire’s tempted to tell Enjolras that he’s absolutely going to shower, if just to jerk off, but bites it back. “Nah, I’m ok,” he says instead, flashing a smile at Enjolras and reveling at the feeling of smooth lips moving over straight teeth. “You don’t smell as bad as I normally do.”

“For Christ’s sake,” Enjolras huffs, reaching out and wrapping a hand around his wrist, and Grantaire swallows at the rough feeling of the callouses on his own hand against Enjolras’s skin. “Come on.”

He tugs Grantaire in the direction of the bathroom, and Grantaire wants to dig in his heels and to tell him that he really doesn’t need to shower, thanks, but instead he lets himself get pulled along, figuring he can always keep his eyes closed when showering.

But then, after turning the shower on, Enjolras pulls his t-shirt over his head, and Grantaire stops and stares at him, at his own tattoos rippling on his chest. “What’re you doing?” he demands, tempted to shove the t-shirt back over Enjolras’s head.

“Proving you have my permission,” Enjolras says impatiently, and he reaches out to tug at the hem of Grantaire’s shirt.

And holy _fuck_ , it should not look as hot as it does for Grantaire to watch himself — to watch his own body, at least — pulling Enjolras’s shirt off the way he had imagined eight thousand times before. And Enjolras’s body responds in kind, and while Grantaire had thoroughly planned on not looking at Enjolras’s dick, he has a feeling it’s going to be pretty hard to ignore it when it’s painfully hard inside Enjolras’s skinny jeans.

To make matter worse, if possible, Enjolras notices the fairly obvious erection that Grantaire is doing very little to hide, and his eyes darken. “Huh,” he says, nodding slightly. “Wouldn’t have suspected that.” When Grantaire just stares at him, he elaborates, “I mean, when I’m in my body, the sight of you shirtless is normally enough to get me hard, but I didn’t expect you to have the same reaction seeing yourself.”

Grantaire’s mouth falls open, because there’s so many things that he wants to say, so many things he wants to ask, but before he can, Enjolras casually unzips his jeans and shoves them down, revealing that Grantaire’s body has responded in kind, and Grantaire swallows, hard, before slowly unzipping Enjolras’s jeans and tugging them down, finally looking down at Enjolras’s naked body.

“Holy fuck,” he says, because it’s everything he imagined and then some, and he chances a look at Enjolras, who’s watching him, something contemplative on his face.

“In the shower,” Enjolras orders, his voice low, and while any order coming from Grantaire’s mouth should sound foreign to both of them, Grantaire finds himself unable to disobey, and so he clambers in the shower, elated that Enjolras follows him inside.

For a moment, they both just stand under the spray of the shower, staring at each other, but then Enjolras closes the space between, resting one of Grantaire’s dark hands on Enjolras’s pale chest. “What do you want?” he asks, his voice a low growl.

Grantaire shakes his head, feeling Enjolras’s blond curls slowly get weighed down by water. “No,” he says. “What do _you_ want?”

Enjolras’s eyes darken. “I want you on your knees,” he says, the words coming out in a rush, and Grantaire swallows before starting to kneel. Enjolras’s hand flashes out to stop him. “No. I want _you_ on your knees.”

And Grantaire watches as Enjolras slowly kneels down, Grantaire’s body falling to its knees like it was meant to be there, and good God, he’s going to come completely untouched if this keeps up. Slowly, almost lazily, Grantaire reaches down to stroke himself, amazed at the silky touch of Enjolras’s cock.

“Is this what you want?” Grantaire asks, and he knows his voice should be rough right now, but Enjolras’s voice is still smooth as silk, even as he cups Enjolras’s —  _his_  — chin, forcing Enjolras to look up at him. “You want to see what this looks like, me on my knees for you?”

Enjolras licks his lips and Grantaire can’t ignore the pure want that curls in his stomach. “Yes,” Enjolras says, finally, and the low rumble of Grantaire’s voice sends shivers down his spine.

Grantaire traces Enjolras’s pale thumb over his body’s lips, surprised and a little gratified when Enjolras sucks on the digit without hesitation. “And is that what you want?” he whispered. “You want to fuck my face, to finally shut me up with your cock?”

“Yes.”

There was no hesitation from Enjolras this time, so Grantaire doesn’t hesitate either, grabbing Enjolras by the chin again, forcing his mouth open and shoving his —  _Enjolras’s_  — cock into his mouth. He thrusts all the way in, hitting the back of his throat, and reaches out to steady himself against the wall of the shower. “Fuck,” he mutters, as Enjolras swirls his tongue around the head of his cock. “Fuck, Enj—”

And Enjolras just looks up at him, and the look on his face is absurdly familiar to Grantaire — he knows damn well that he wears that look every time Enjolras so much as spares him a second glance, and his hips stutter as he fucks into Enjolras’s mouth.

The realization hits him that Enjolras is technically sucking his own cock, and that should disgust him, he supposes, but instead, the realization makes him groan and grip his own dark curls with Enjolras’s long, pale fingers, and Enjolras lets out a filthy moan at the sensation.

That noise alone makes Grantaire come, and he grips the back of Enjolras’s head as he does, holding him in place as his cock spurts down the back of his throat. Enjolras’s eyes again meet his and slowly, audibly, Enjolras swallows.

The entire room suddenly spins, and Grantaire closes his eyes to try to stop the sudden vertigo that hits him, and when he blinks open again, he’s on his knees in Enjolras’s shower, Enjolras’s softening cock still in his mouth. Enjolras pulls back, his eyes wide. “Grantaire?” he asks, and when Grantaire just nods, Enjolras reaches out and grabs his chin again, holding him in place and just _looking_ at him. “God, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“What, fuck my face? Or have me fuck your face?”

Grantaire means it as a joke, but Enjolras’s eyes darken. “Both,” he says, and without warning he pulls Grantaire up, crowding him against the wet tile as he kisses him, licking into Grantaire’s mouth as if he hadn’t just been fucking it — although, in fairness, he hadn’t.

And Grantaire knows that they have a million things that they should be talking about, the least of which being the apparently magic orgasm that somehow put them back in their own bodies, but his hard-on is trapped between his body and Enjolras’s, and then Enjolras reaches down and wraps those long fingers around Grantaire’s cock and — _fuck_.

It’s even better than he had imagined it. “Enjolras,” he whimpers, and it strikes him as patently unfair in that moment that he’s going to come twice in that shower and Enjolras hadn’t even come once.

Then again, when Enjolras runs his thumb over the slit of Grantaire’s cock, he’s certainly not going to complain about the unfairness of the situation.

He comes in even less time this time around, all but collapsing against Enjolras, who steadies him with an almost-possessive hand against his hip. “How was that?” Enjolras asks, breathless, and Grantaire manages a smile for him.

“For me? Do you even need to ask?”

Enjolras laughs and leans in to kiss him again, biting down on Grantaire’s bottom lip, and Grantaire lets out a groan. “We should do this again sometime,” Enjolras says, nonchalantly, reaching behind himself to turn the shower off.

Grantaire blinks. “Which part?” he asks, still coming down from his second orgasm in five minutes. “The switching bodies or the face-fucking or the glorious handjob, or—”

“The latter two,” Enjolras interrupts. “Because I want to actually fuck your face this time.”

Grantaire’s mouth goes dry, and before he can come up with some kind of witty response, Enjolras steps out of the shower, grabbing a towel and throwing it to Grantaire, who only barely catches it. “Uh, ok,” he says and even though he knows he’s going to hate himself later for ruining the moment, he blurts, “And should we also talk at some point? About — about whatever this is?”

Enjolras looks at him critically. “You know, you were right about one thing,” he murmurs, and Grantaire swallows, hard, at the suddenly predatory look on Enjolras’s face. “I have thought about shutting you up with my cock before.”

“Is that so?” Grantaire asks, his voice hoarse, and Enjolras smiles, touching himself, and Grantaire swallows even harder when he sees that Enjolras is starting to get hard again.

“Yeah. Thinking about it right now, in fact.”

Grantaire watches Enjolras’s hand slide lazily up and down his cock before tearing his eyes away and taking a deep breath. “We _do_ need to talk,” he says, but his voice is weak and his will even weaker.

Enjolras closes the space between them. “We do,” he agrees, resting a hand on Grantaire’s chest, and Grantaire leans into the touch. “But first…”

The hand moves to Grantaire’s shoulder, pushing his all-too-willing body to his knees, and Grantaire sinks down, running his hands up Enjolras’s thighs and marveling at the feeling, even though technically, he had done this before.

There’d be time to talk later.

Right now, Enjolras is looking down at him with a look that Grantaire wishes he could bottle and be drunk off of for the rest of his life, and as always, when it comes to Enjolras, Grantaire is helpless to resist.


End file.
